[center][url=https://fontmeme.com/wolves-rise-against-font/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/170717/f014c5e5e2806e1a0d503dc2e2ca8198.png[/img][/url][/center] The Grimtaash, a squat-postured creature with a pair of lanky hands with Rodian-like fingers and an elongated, prehensile proboscis charged at its quarry, the pink stick-thin limbed Monnock, which turned its horned-head and staff too late to stop from being pounced upon, its neck snapped under the suction-like grip of the Grimtaash. As the kill was finally registered, the two creatures' illumination faded, and behind them was a looming face of a Dug, flashing an arrogant grin across the no-longer active Dejarik table, hand extended. "Pay up; I've places to be." He demanded of the Gigoran sitting across from him, the grey-white furred beast of an alien with beady, hateful red eyes behind a mouth-mounted vocorder staring hateful daggers at the Dug, standing suddenly and smashing giant, furry fists into the table so hard it dented. The Gigoran stood around 2 meters in height, and it reminded the Dug of an extremely shaggy relative of Wookiees. the translated voice came from the vocorder. Nonplussed, the Dug shot a thumb back at an approaching security guard, a human who's thumb unlatched the leather holder affixed to his hip as he walked over to see what the disturbance was about. "You're just a sore loser and lacking where it counts when it comes to these sorts of things." he said, tapping a finger against his temple, his infuriating grin not fading. "Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to hand me the 100 credits you so graciously wagered, and I'll explain to the guard that you didn't just threaten to rip my arm off. A fair trade, I'd say." "Last chance." The Gigoran stomped around the table towards Zekha, who limberly jumped up on the table with his muscular arms, raising the smaller pair defensively, "Hey, hey, easy friend!" He called out loudly, now the guard was sprinting towards them. "No need for violence!" "Step away from him, now!" The guard shouted, not quite drawing his blaster, but with a hand on the grip and a hunched at-the-ready stance demonstrated a willingness to even the odds against the massive alien, who looked back at the guard, demanding He insisted, pointed a finger towards the table accusingly. Only instead of a smug Dug staring back defiantly, the Dug was nowhere to be seen... nor was the Gigorian's satchel he left beside the table. The Dug, Zekha, knew he wouldn't be able to outrun either a human or Gigoran, but he didn't need to. Heading out of the classy pub he'd spent the past hour looking for a suitable and gullible mark after playing several legitimate games before the big fella took him up on a wager, in which Zekha responded enthusiastically by firing up a table he'd slipped a small spider-like droid that immediately latched onto the Dejarik table's logic controller and began to control the incoming and outgoing signals, only activating to permit Zekha's very illegal move before its purpose was served and the droid fried its own circuits when the table shut down. For a device that cost maybe 10 credits in a scrap shop three blocks away plus some junk Zekha had laying around, it made back 9 times its initial cost. Not a bad way to kill an afternoon, when all was said and done. The Dug rounded a corner and using the ornate support pillars that held up an upper walkway, he leveraged himself up, gathering a few surprised gasps and murmurs for the highly unusual behavior as he easily scaled to the upper platform and away from the entrance of the pub. The idiots would probably figure it out before long, but by then, Zekha would be long gone. Walking along as he rummaged through the satchel, Zekha fingered a pair of metal chits that he pulled free of the satchel, eyeing his ill-gotten gains with satisfaction before shoving them into a pocket and tossing the leather satchel into a nearby trash receptacle. It was a nice bag, but way too big for someone of his frame. [I]Too bad.[/I] he thought, looking at a hologram clock that was perched between a couple of neon-bright advertisement screens peddling some wares that no one would find useful after using it once or twice. Seventeen minutes until the deadline; plenty of time to get to the [I]Phoenix[/I] and get off world before a certain Gigorian and his law enforcement friends were any the wiser. It was a risk, true, but the rush just couldn't be assigned a Credit value. Tracing the route he'd taken several times in anticipation of a heady escape prior to setting up his little sting, Zekha was soon making his way to the hanger, his awkward gait oddly suited for stepping around slow-walkers without breaking momentum. Soon, his chariot loomed like a shameful relative at a family gathering in a hanger full of sleek and beautiful spacecraft; the 578-R, aka the optimistically named [I]Phoenix[/I]. Its haul was coloured as such that the rust born from years of protective layers being burned away at atmospheric reentry and subsequently oxidizing when the weather got to it and the alloy-impregnated pigment weren't exactly distinct anymore, its beetle-like visage only reinforcing that perception with windows that had been zealously over-reinforced, likely by some former captain who had the misfortune of having said windows begin to wiggle loose while in flight long ago. The Dug had sat down a few days ago with Captain Varen, who had been looking for an engineer who was familiar with the class of starship. Zekha had won over the grizzled human somewhere between explaining how he had rigged up a hyperdrive motivator on a previous ship he'd worked on and how the piping that went from the latrine into the water recycling plant was prone to leakage if the starboard crew quarters door slammed into the open position by infrequent power surges, jarring the often shitty cementing job loose after a few months. In all, the ship was old, obsolete even after it first was produced, and the amount of people who knew how to keep the hunk of crap space worthy were probably in the neighbourhood of the amount of Gigorians who were catching Dugs cheating them at wagers. Zekha, for all of his winning personality, was uniquely overqualified for that position. It meant that the Captain couldn't afford to lose the Dug engineer, which meant turning a blind eye to some of his pet projects and acquisitions, or so Zekha told himself as he strolled up the cargo ramp, smirking at Varen's perpetually annoyed expression. Truth be told, the Dug was just happy to be off of his last ship, whose captain's brain never quite left its post as a drill instructor and interpreted the hapless crew as raw recruits that needed some extra motivation to do the most basic of tasks. That captain's farewell present was a box of truffles with a powerful laxatives injected into the cream center. Varen wasn't likely to share a similar fate, but Zekha was all about letting people prove themselves to be quite wrong. The briefing went about as tediously as one could rightfully anticipate if they'd sat through similar orientations before; follow orders, serve your crew, do your job. The wording varied each and every time, but that was the gist of it. A Bith shrank and left sheepishly, probably because it forgot its purse where it left its testicles. [I]Do Bith even have those?[/I] Zekha pondered, thinking about asking the alien to its back, but it was already out of earshot. He had to give it to the little guy, he was fast. The Dug only loosely gazed upon his fellow recruits. A Wookiee, who was probably hired on for the same reason you hire any Wookiee; Brute strength and being able to feign not understanding what they say so you can avoid small talk. A Trandoshan, which surprised the Dug considering the Wookiee; both species were well known nemesis. He seemed kind of doughy and lacking a certain ferocity that defined his species, which made Zekha wonder exactly what he was doing here. A Twi'lek, whom the Wookiee seemed to take a fancy to. Zekha never saw the appeal of that particular Species' aesthetics, the lekku were rather off-putting. The last one in particular caught his eye; some kind of droid. Zekha strolled over, leaping up and grabbing hold of the droid has he inspected it like he was appraising a new swoop bike, staring with a single eye inches from the photo-receptor. "You never mentioned I had a signing bonus." Zekha mused to the captain, whose glare told him enough to let go. The Dug grunted disapprovingly; apparently the droid was one of the [I]crew[/I]. Well, no matter. It was bound to be another project for another day. Instead of apologizing, his gaze was caught on the welding curtain, wondering exactly what was being worked on back there. The Trandoshan hurried after the departing Captain, expressing concern about the ship's reliability. Zekha strolled over. He'd gleaned from the reptile's speech that he was the pilot. [I]Oh, this should be good.[/I] the Dug thought. "Don't you worry your thermal-eyed hide about the [I]Phoenix[/I], I'm the one who's going to make sure it skips over the burning up magnificently part before it becomes a thing of legend. You just worry about following the hyper lanes and avoiding smashing into space debris, I'm going to make sure this rust [I]poodoo[/I] runs more magnificently than whatever it is they're building on Corellia these days." he said, grinning winningly at the towering alien. Turning to the group as a whole, he spoke up, "The lot of you have the privilege of having a master engineer in your midst," he placed a large hand on his chest. "Zekha. Remember it, because I'm not repeating myself. Don't touch anything that you doubtless don't have a clue of what it is, don't touch anything to this ship without consulting me, and don't bother me when I'm working. Your lives are in all four of my hands, so respect my boundaries and I'll leave you all to... whatever it is you do. I don't really care." he said, suddenly disinterested in the group once more as the sound of welding arcs caught his attention. What other crew were on this ship, he wondered.